


Be Careful What You Wish For

by Mottled_System



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Aftercare, Anal, Anal Fingering, Anal Play, Anal Plug, Anal Sex, Arrogance, Asphyxiation, Awkward Flirting, BDSM, Bad Flirting, Bath Sex, Bathing/Washing, Bathroom Sex, Bathtub Sex, Bathtubs, Be Careful What You Wish For, Begging, Biting, Blood, Blood Kink, Bondage, Bondage and Discipline, Breeding, Burns, Choking, Cigarettes, Comfort, Consensual Kink, Consensual Non-Consent, Consensual Somnophilia, Crying, Cuddling & Snuggling, Cunnilingus, Cutting, Dacryphilia, Daddy Kink, Death Threats, Desperation, Dirty Talk, Dominance, Dominant Ben Solo, Dominant Kylo Ren, Exhibitionism, F/M, Face-Fucking, Falling In Love, Femdom, Fetish, Flirting, Fluff and Smut, Foot Fetish, Force Choking (Star Wars), Forced Pregnancy, Forniphilia, Gags, Gentle Kissing, Gloves, Gratuitous Smut, Horniness, Human Furniture, Humiliation, Inappropriate Use of Lightsabers (Star Wars), Inappropriate Use of the Force, Kissing, Kleptophilia, Klismaphilia, Kneeling, Knifeplay, Kylo Ren Has Issues, Kylo Ren Needs a Hug, Kylo Ren is Not Nice, Lactation, Lactation Kink, Lactophilia, Literal Sleeping Together, Loss of Virginity, Magical Pregnancy, Masochism, Master/Pet, Masturbation, Masturbation in Bathroom, Mirror Sex, Mirrors, Mocking, Morning After, Multiple Orgasms, Naked Cuddling, Near Death Experiences, Neck Kissing, Needles, Nipple Clamps, Nipple Licking, Nipple Play, Nipples, Oral Sex, Orgasm, Orgasm Control, Orgasm Delay, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Orgasm Denial, POV Second Person, Pee, Pegging, Penis In Vagina Sex, Pining, Piquerism, Piss, Post-Coital Cuddling, Pouting, Praise Kink, Pregnancy, Pregnancy Kink, Pregnant Sex, Present Tense, Punishment, Rimming, Risk Aware Consensual Kink, Roleplay, Rope Bondage, Rough Kissing, Rough Oral Sex, Sadism, Safeword Use, Safewords, Salirophilia, Scarification, Scars, Scratching, Sex with a Statue, Sexual Fantasy, Sexual Inexperience, Sexual Violence, Shame, Shameless Smut, Showers, Simultaneous Orgasm, Size Kink, Sleep, Sleep Sex, Sleeping Together, Slime, Smoking, Smut, Sneaking Around, Somnophilia, Spanking, Spit As Lube, Spit Kink, Stabbing, Stalking, Strangulation, Supreme Leader Kylo Ren, Switching, Tears, Teasing, Temporarily Unrequited Love, That's Not How The Force Works (Star Wars), Threats, Threats of Violence, Top Kylo Ren, Urination, Urine, Urolagnia, Vaginal Sex, Vampire Bites, Vampire Kylo Ren, Vampire Sex, Vampire Turning, Vampires, Verbal Humiliation, Violence, Virginity, Voyeurism, Watching Someone Sleep, Wet & Messy, Wish Fulfillment, Wishes, agalmatophilia, asphyxiophilia, autassassinophilia, breast milk, gagging, hematolagnia, mysophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-25
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-16 13:01:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 16,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29700930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mottled_System/pseuds/Mottled_System
Summary: You find a strange statue that seems to lure you in closer. It offers to grant you thirteen wishes- but there's a catch. You don't get to pick the wishes; instead, the statue looks within you and decides... And you decide to take it.Or, you really want Kylo Ren to fuck you violently and he likes it so much that he falls in love with you.Extreme kinks- sane and consensual but only dubiously safe.
Relationships: Ben Solo & Reader, Ben Solo & You, Ben Solo | Kylo Ren & Reader, Ben Solo | Kylo Ren & You, Ben Solo | Kylo Ren/Reader, Ben Solo | Kylo Ren/You, Ben Solo/Reader, Ben Solo/You, Kylo Ren & Reader, Kylo Ren & You, Kylo Ren/Reader, Kylo Ren/You
Comments: 11
Kudos: 64





	1. Agalmatophilia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Agalmatophilia - sexual attraction to a statue, doll, mannequin, or other similar figurative object.

You sit in the pilot seat of your ship, trying to stay calm, listening to the aftermath of the crash. You’re alright- the ship is probably salvageable- the moon shows signs of being a place commonly stopped at, though you’re not sure why.

In truth, this is one of the best-case scenario outcomes. You had been expecting much worse.

You were a stormtrooper, and a damned good one at that. You followed orders and you shot true. You were a handful of months out from being promoted to captain alongside Phasma.

A part of you wishes you wouldn’t have missed that one, single reconditioning session. You would be beloved amongst the First Order. But a much larger part of you knows that, despite the hell you’ve been through now that you see just how vile the Order is, it’s best that you left- best for you and best for the galaxy.

With a sigh, you stand and stagger out of the ship; it’s not entirely unlikely that it’s about to explode, after all. When you’ve left, you take a cursory glance to make sure the ship isn’t totaled before looking out at the desolate rock before you.

It seems like nothing lives here, but you know better than to assume. You ready your blaster and take a few steps forward; there’s a cavern just ahead, and from the looks of it, not a particularly big one. Between staying out in the open and waiting for a pirate or whatever might live here to find you, and taking on whatever small creature houses itself inside there one-on-one with a blaster, you walk toward the cavern’s entrance.

The rock is a dull, medium brown covered in craters and pock marks. Inside, the walls and ceilings are indistinguishable from the floor. You glance quickly around the small, tear-drop shaped cavern and find nothing alive.

There is, however, a statue standing in the middle of the room, seemingly made from a much more refined version of whatever rock the cavern was made of. It is masterfully crafted, you note, as you walk forward, examining it. However, it is remarkably vague, featureless. It’s eerie to look at.

Something in you stirs. You tell yourself it’s admiration for this work of art, and you’re almost correct. Tentatively, you reach up and touch its emotionless face.

You gasp as the tips of your fingers find the cool, smooth stone; a force of energy seems to billow out from it like a sudden, but not unbearable, wind, and you blink as you look upon the stone in wonder. You’re mesmerized by it as the rock seems to morph and shift beneath your gentle touch, and you stand there watching, gaping, as its face transforms. Not once does it occur to you to pull away, to leave.

In moments, the lifeless statue has been replaced with what seems to be a perfect sculpture of the Supreme Leader- a perfect sculpture of Kylo Ren. You gasp then, finally recoiling and gazing upon the statue with awe, wonderment, and confusion.

The statue is as tall as the man himself, his hair just as long and haphazard. His skin is the same grey beige as the statue had begun as, and though his eyes show no color, they are unmistakable in their appearance. His nose is long and hooked, his lips plush and faintly parted, his chiseled cheeks dotted with birthmarks and freckles barely raised from the skin. His bare shoulders are broad, his thick arms muscled, his abdomen thick and toned. You swallow as your eyes take in an immaculate, large penis, laying soft beneath a bed of curls and large testicles. His thighs are thick and strong, his calves as well. His feet are large and inoffensive. You glance at his large, veiny hands, then finally, let your eyes settle upon the unsettling and familiar face, trying to ignore the arousal now pulsating in your core.

You're afraid. You can feel your heartbeat everywhere. It isn’t worth taking note of.

Suddenly- terrifyingly- intoxicatingly- the statue’s eyes move, from looking off in the distance to looking at you. You gasp and take a step back, but the statue’s face turns more towards you. Its movements are at once human and inhuman, emotive and lifeless. He clenches his jaw in a way very reminiscent of the man he’s come to embody. “Hello,” it says in a voice that sounds like Kylo Ren’s, but lacks the anger, the animosity, the demanding demeanor. “Y/N.”

“How do you-?” you manage, feeling as if you’ve lost your mind. “What- who- how? How… Are you… How?”

The statue smiles at you, amused, but tempered. “I simply am.”

You stare at the statue for a long time, brow furrowed. You cannot find anything to say.

“You came to me in need of assistance. In need of help. I can offer you… Whatever you want.” The statue’s cold, lifeless eyes glitter at you, putting you on edge, making you- suspicious. But… There’s also something within you, settling you. You feel yourself relax.

“What?”

“Thirteen wishes I can grant you,” says the statue. “Thirteen beautiful, wonderful things that you crave in the deepest parts of yourself. Not merely illusions or memories- but the real, actual wishes.”

“Why?”

The statue smiles. “I simply do.”

You frown at it. You know you should be skeptical, you should be safe, you should refuse.

You’re in the middle of nowhere. You have no food, no water, no shelter. There’s no clue as to when or if another ship will arrive. You have nothing to lose.

That last thought echoes in your mind, tempting you. “Okay.”

“There’s one rule,” says the statue. “You don’t get to choose the wishes- not consciously, anyway. I will look within you and provide to you the thirteen things you most dearly wish for.”

You blink, then nod. “Okay.”

The statue smiles then and reaches out. Instinctively, you reach out as well, and your hands touch. An energy seems to pour itself out from the statue, cascading over you. You shiver and lean back, letting out a gentle whimper as it floods you with a bright, happy warmth.

When you recover, you compose yourself and look forward only to blink. The statue sits in place, looking debonair, nonchalant, and still exactly like Kylo Ren. His cock is hard and upright as if waiting for you.

“One,” whispers the voice, coming from inside of your head now. “Agalmatophilia.”

You take a step forward, then a second. Your brain knows it should be ashamed, knows you’ve been suppressing thoughts and urges like this for years… But it doesn’t seem capable of caring. With only a hint of shame- and a cascade of surrealness- you sit in the statue’s lap, suddenly naked. You gaze at it’s masterfully crafted features, so similar to the man you’ve yearned for since you’d first seen him. You run your tongue along his smooth stone face and moan at the sensation; your breasts, nipples, run faintly against the statue’s stone chest- a perfect image of Kylo Ren. Your hand wanders towards his hard, thick cock- now even larger and dotted with faint veins- and you stroke him eagerly as your tongue runs over the statue’s parted lips. You gaze into Kylo Ren’s eyes as you roll your hips, imagining the man watching you, eyeing you, both aroused and perturbed by your lurid fantasy.

After a moment you shift and sink happily onto the statue’s stiff cock, reveling in the gentle coarseness of the stone inside of your desperate walls. It’s so large and unforgiving inside of you; you moan and shudder and whimper as you roll your hips back and forth at an increasingly wild pace. Your hands find your own breasts and you knead them, rolling your nipples between your fingers as your mouth reverently worships his neck, his chin, his collarbone…

As you turn your head to the side, running your tongue against the stone, you gasp as you catch sight of him- the  _ real _ Kylo Ren, flesh and blood, watching you as if you both are a holo to the other. And yet, you know that you are both entirely real.

He watches you, his face intense and impassive. His jaw clenches and his eyes twitch as he catches sight of you. You freeze, leaning into the statue’s immobile arms, and stare at Kylo Ren as if waiting for a punishment. Your cunt whimpers, begging for more stimulation. But Kylo Ren’s vindictive eyes upon you makes your skin crawl… And it feels delectable.

“Well,” Kylo Ren says finally. You look at him expectantly. “Fuck it, whore.”

The disgust in his voice makes you shutter; his command causes you to surge back into action, throwing in effort to really put on a show for him; you dance as you ride, still lavishing the stone with your eager tongue. You moan and whimper lewdly into the air, casting lust-stricken glances at Kylo Ren’s angry, incessant glower.

It doesn’t take you long to cum, exploding around the thick cock within you as your amour’s eyes scrape over you. You shudder and whine, head thrown back, as your needy hips thrust themselves forward and back like waves over rocks. You ride your orgasm to the end before shuddering and pulling back, studying the unchanged statue with a parted mouth.

The humiliation returns then, and you flush as you clamber to your feet. Kylo Ren remains, staring at you. You’re about to hug yourself against the chilly air when that energy finds you again, sending you reeling momentarily into yourself once more.


	2. Asphyxiophilia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Asphyxiophilia - A dangerous and potentially deadly form of sexual masochism involving sexual arousal by oxygen deprivation

When you come to once more, you’re standing in what you can only assume to be Kylo Ren’s chambers, still naked. Kylo Ren stands before you, entirely clothed, his stunning face unmasked. You look into each other’s eyes, both seemingly recovering from the strange, unnatural energy granting these wishes to you.

“Two,” says the voice in your head. “Asphyxiophilia.”

Then, suddenly, Kylo Ren surges forward and you jump.

His gloved hands are around your throat in a moment, holding tightly, and as he leads you backward by his grip you clench his wrist, your legs kicking and fighting beneath you.

You’ve fucked yourself to the thought of this man’s hands around your delicate throat, squeezing the life out of you.

He slams you against the wall, not hard enough to truly cause harm but certainly hard enough to send your mind reeling. You gasp violently for air as he lifts you up against the cold harsh metal you’re pressed into. “What are you doing?” snarls Kylo Ren, looking angry and mean, hints of confusion and surprise in his dark, dreamy eyes. “How are you doing this?”

“I’m not doing anything,” you gasp out, your words raspy and garbled. Your vision is frighteningly blurry now, and your throat aches more than you thought it could. Your lungs, your chest, are on fire. Your cheeks are covered in tears.

Exactly as it becomes too much to bear, Kylo Ren sends you flying onto his bed and you gasp and crawl away from him, staring at him. Your cunt is on fire, as hungry and ready as it ever was, as if you hadn’t just creamed yourself on the galaxy’s most abrasive dildo. Even as you scurry away, he grabs your leg and hauls you effortlessly towards him again, wrenching your arms above your head. You both freeze, noses nearly touching, as you look into each other's eyes.

“Is it- is making you?” you ask, horrified. Your voice is gnarled, broken.

“I don’t know,” he breathes. “I… Want to.”

“Is it making you want to?”

Kylo Ren studies you for a moment. “No, I don’t think so. It tried to- I stopped it. It’s… Like a suggestion. I don’t… Want to ignore it.”

You shudder, remembering how you had felt fucking the statue. “Oh.”

An invisible force wrings itself around your throat, and your throat makes crackling noises that sound pathetic and inhuman. Kylo’s gloved hands scrape down your body; he wrenches your legs open and unbuttons his pants. Your hands scratch at your own throat as you writhe in pain and ecstasy; as soon as you reach your limit, the force around your throat disappears. You gasp and cough into the air, shuddering, weeping.

He thrusts into you before you can really understand what’s happening; you moan and whimper in pain and pleasure pouring in from both your throat and your cunt. Each moan is excruciating. He fucks you unceremoniously, fast and rough and angry. One hand grips your hair and the other finds your throat, not strangling you again but instead pressing in on either side, making you feel dizzy and lightheaded.

“You want this, slut?”

“Yes,” you manage, your throat crackling around the words.

“You get off to this sick shit?”

You nod, looking up at his face. You want him to kiss you- and then he does, sloppy and wet and rough. Your tongues dance, lips meet. He spits in your mouth and you moan in gratitude.

As time goes on he grunts and groans more, snarling incomprehensibly in your ear and your brain melts. As you move closer towards another climax he pulls away only to replace his face with a pillow, which he presses staunchly down over your face, smothering you.

You gasp against the tight fabric and feel it pulled desperately into your mouth. You cough and gasp and buck and fight, but Kylo Ren restrains you and keeps barreling his cock in and out of your drenched, abused pussy. Your hands find his and you dig your nails in, screaming and crying into the pillow even as you ride the intense pleasure it gives you.

You want to cum. You want him to pump you full of his own.

And so, you do, and he does, simultaneously. He tosses the pillow aside and you gasp in a painful, deep breath, then shudder and convulse as your climax pulsates through your body. He finishes with a few slow, fast thrusts before lowering his head towards yours.

You find yourself somehow aware of the fact that the voice- the energy- the statue- will give you a few moments to recover.

“What the fuck is going on?” asks Kylo Ren. You flush crimson as he pulls away slightly to look into your eyes.

His hips are rested on yours, his half-soft cock, still covered in both of your cum, lay twitching against your leaking cunt. His elbows support him, which lay on either side of you. You can feel the intimate, humid heat that lay between both of your bodies. He’s beautiful, as if crafted by the gods.

You find yourself unable to answer his question, though, and blink several times. “I… Wishes,” you whisper. You wish he could just simply  _ know _ ; you wish you didn’t have to explain.

And so he does. He blinks, looking as if he’s just remembered something important. Then, he looks at you with harsh, piercing eyes.

Without a moment to discuss, the energy consumes you once more, sending you spinning.


	3. Autassassinophilia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Autassassinophilia - a paraphilia in which sexual arousal and the achievement of orgasm are facilitated by the fantasy or belief that one is in danger of being killed

“Three,” says the voice as you blink into a dark room. You wear clothing; you’re crouched stealthily beside a corner. “Autassassinophilia.”

Before you can wonder, wordlessly or aloud, what that means, a heat and a light appear at your surprisingly painless throat. You look down and shudder in fear at the lightsaber that has been activated at your throat.

“Don’t move,” says the voice behind you- Kylo Ren. “And pray that keeps you alive just a moment longer.”

Your mouth opens as terror and arousal courses through you. You’ve thought about things like this… But to do it? To really, actually do it. “Ple-” you begin.

He wrenches his lightsaber inward, towards you, and you fling back against him. His hot breath lands on your ear just as he snarls. “Shut the fuck up, you stupid fucking whore.”

You shudder as he grabs you by the arms and leans you forward, trying to push you into the angry, spitting lightsaber. You whimper and struggle, fighting to press yourself backwards against his hard, strong body.

_ If he wanted to kill you he could _ , you think in an effort to calm yourself, but it only turns you on more.

He might kill you. He might be into drawing it out. He might like watching you struggle.

You’re as terrified as you are enthralled.

“Please-”

He twists the blade suddenly and lets you slam back into his chest. He has the now-vertical lightsaber millimeters from your cheek, your brow, your eye; it spits out and burns your skin, sizzles away part of your eyebrow, an eyelash or two. “Say one more word and you lose your tongue. I’m sure you’ll get it back next time.”

It settles over you in an almost physical way, like water over rocks- he means it. At least that, he means. You shutter and silence the whimpering in your chest, cope with the burning shame of the tumultuous embers rolling delightedly in your core.

He thrusts you onto your knees and yanks you around, and in moments he has his cock down your throat. You gag and cough against it, your jaw stretched to its limits as his head barrels angrily into your throat, his thrusts indifferent to your intense physical reactions. You feel him lower the lightsaber towards you and rush to compose yourself, to calm your throat, to welcome his girthy cock into your mouth.

“That’s a good little fuckhole,” he hisses. “Look at me. Look at me while I fucking rape your slutty goddamn throat.”

You gag again and look up at him, barely making out his inhuman mask in the dimly lit room. You yelp into his cock as he presses the lightsaber into your shoulder, burning you, and keeps it there. You gag and chortle and desperately try to stay still.

“I could slice your head off and fuck you all the same,” he threatens, and you whimper. Mustering all your will, you press into him, taking every square centimeter of his cock into your mouth, his dark curls in your eyes, his balls on your chin. As if a reward, he pulls the lightsaber away from your wound but keeps it lingering near you, spitting at your skin, ready to slice into you once more.

You take over a little bit more, bobbing your head back and forth, careful to deepthroat him often in the hopes of keeping him pleased. Your eyes are watering and you feel almost desperate to throw up, but you keep fucking your throat and letting copious amounts of spit pour out of your obscene face.

He cums then without warning, grabbing your head and slamming it forward. You gasp and then suck in; mistakenly, you breathe in a mouthful of cum and immediately begin to choke on it, heaving and coughing even as he fucks your face, still cumming down your throat.

You’re certain you’re going to die when he finally releases you, and you all but collapse forward, coughing and hacking and gasping in air as your body propels his cum out of you. When you’ve gotten a handle on yourself, you look up at him, watery eyes blurred.

“Such a pretty slut,” he remarks, and you blink.

Your ignored cunt is throbbing, begging for him.

And, swiftly, the energy comes once more, marking the end of this scene and the transition to another.


	4. Dacryphilia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dacryphilia - a form of paraphilia in which one is aroused by tears or sobbing

When you’ve recovered, though, you remain kneeling at Kylo Ren’s feet, covered in spit and coughed-up cum and tears, your back and shoulder on fire, freshly burned. You feel desolate and so, so in need of an orgasm.

“Four,” says the voice. “Dacryphilia.”

You watch as Kylo Ren lifts his helmet off of his head and tosses it to the side, revealing once more the face you’d burned into your retinas as you desperately fucked yourself, careful not to moan, in the barracks. His gloved hand touches your chin, turns your head gently to the side.

“You’re pretty when you cry,” he says softly, and you shudder.

It bursts suddenly out you- you begin to whimper and cry. You’re not necessarily sad- just… Overwhelmed, small. Kylo Ren falls to his knees and pulls you close, holding your clothed body to his, and gently  _ shushes _ you, stroking away the tears slowly and gently. You lean your body into his and watch him as he watches you cry, seemingly both aroused and sympathetic.

Then, he tucks your face into his chest and strokes your hair. You find comfort in his arms as your brain processes and comes to terms with everything that’s happened so far.

It’s not too much. It’s just enough- and you need a break so that you can have more.

_ You’re pretty when you cry _ echoes in your head; he likes it when you cry. He likes that he made you cry. And you like that very much.

You feel your own heartbeat as you listen to his, shudder as they slowly become in sync with one another. His big arms hold you as his surprisingly gentle hands stroke you. He whispers soothing words into your ear, words you’d never have dreamed Kylo Ren would say to anyone. He soothes your soul as you melt into him, and you both stay there, together on your knees, for a long time- until long after you’ve recovered.

Feeling at one with this man you’ve longed for for years, you savor the feeling of being held. And then, when you’re ready, the energy consumes you yet again.


	5. Forniphilia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Forniphilia - a form of bondage and sexual objectification in which a person's body is incorporated into a chair, table, cabinet or other piece of furniture.

You come to sitting comfortably upon a bed- Kylo’s bed. You’re entirely naked, entirely recovered… But as you look over your shoulder, there is a viscous scar upon your back, evidence of the statue's warning-  _ Not merely illusions or memories- but the real, actual wishes _ .

You look over at Kylo, who stands tall in front of you, ever clothed, gazing down at you. His eyes are… Sad. Apologetic, but not consciously so. You expect him to apologize, but he doesn’t; as he catches you watching him patiently, his face grows guarded and intense once more. “What’s this, then? Just… Bondage? Helluva follow up to-  _ that _ .”

“Five,” says the voice within your head. “Forniphilia.”

You blanche. He’s going to think you’re so weird, so dumb. As he quirks his brows impatiently at you, you flush. “Forniphilia,” you mutter, looking away.

“ _ What? _ ”

“Forni-” you begin, more clearly.

“I heard the word. What the hell is it?” His voice is impatient. You roll your eyes and tuck your legs towards your chest, hugging them. He crosses his arms staring at you. When you don’t speak, he all but snarls at you. “Listen. I have the increasingly hard to ignore urges your Force genie keeps sending me.”

“My wha-”

Kylo takes a step forward and yanks you closer by your leg, sending your head tumbling back into the comforter. He digs his knee into your stomach and you moan and shudder; it hurts and it’s so hot. He grips your wrists fiercely in one large, warm hand and takes your face in his other, making you look at him. You feel like a disobedient child as you coyly look at his handsome face through your lashes. “Tell me what you want me to do to you. I will do that, and only that. Okay?”

Your lips part as your heart, stomach, and cunt all twist happily in unison. “Um… I-I want you t-to… Use me like furniture.”

His head tilts to the side; you can tell he’s struggling to keep his temper in check, because he knows you’re flustered and it would only make you moreso. You’re almost flattered enough by the effort not to be self-conscious anymore. “Like… Furniture? Like a chair, or-?”

“Whatever you want.”

He eyes you sternly. “I’m pretty sure this is about what  _ you _ want, is it not?”

You look down again and shift. “Like… A footrest. Or a bookshelf. Or… An ashtray.”

He can’t conceal his surprise quick enough to keep you from flushing even further and squirming. He stands up. “You act like this is worse than all the rest,” he says.

“I didn’t have to explain the rest!”

“Hmph,” he responds. You finally look at him and notice-

“Where’s the rope? It didn’t give us rope?”

Kylo blinks, then moves casually towards his nightstand. In moments, there are two different kinds of rope laid out- “Silk or coarse?”

Fuck. You want them both. You want to be strung up like a precious work of art with that stunning red silk, to be used all the same. You want the coarse rope to dig into your skin, to make you ache as he does with you what he pleases. Fuck. Fuck.  _ Fuck _ .

As if sensing your indecision, Kylo smirks at you. “Let’s do two sessions, then.”

You nod and flush. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

Kylo laughs. “I know. I could’ve stopped this at the beginning and sent you straight to a cell.”

You look at him suddenly, and he eyes you with an arrogant bravado. He knows who you are. He knows you’re a traitor, a deserter. You open your mouth, but he pulls you forward with a foot hooked under your knee, urging you onto the floor. You swear his eyes soften as you go.

He positions you on your elbows and knees, tying you tightly with the silk rope. Even just the sensation of it makes you moan gently every once in a while. Once you’re bound tightly, the silk rope laid out beautifully over your body, he lifts you up as if carrying a real ottoman and sets you down in front of an armchair in the corner. He returns to the nightstand to fish out some more things- you feel yourself grow wet at the thought of him having these things, using them. You wonder how many other people- women, men, and otherwise- have been strung up with this very rope. You coo softly.

He returns with a mouth gag, a bit more rope, and- a hook with a ball on the end. You blink at it; he’s holding some things in his other hand, too, but you can’t tell what they are. He sets them down on the chair behind you and walks off again, this time to grab a full-length mirror and position it just so you can see yourself and the chair behind you.

You look like all the women from the porn you watch, strung up and waiting uselessly to be used. Your pussy throbs behind you, your juices trailing gently over your skin, the cool air causing your sensitive skin to prickle. He grabs something from the chair- nipple clamps. He sits on your back and leans forward to attach them; he’s heavy, almost heavy enough to make you crumble. He doesn’t seem too concerned about shifting weight to his feet on the ground, and why should he be? You’re meant to be used.

You moan and whimper as he attaches each clamp and leaves them dangling beneath you with a weight. It’s a strange and new sensation; you want to wriggle in place to feel it toy with your nipples, but ottomans don’t move. Still perched upon your back, he reaches behind himself to grab another toy- the gag. You open your mouth in anticipation and he smirks at you through the mirror, placing the inner half of the tube into your mouth, stretching it open. It’s latex and the tube juts out about an inch.

Next, he grabs something else, dangles it in front of your face. “Do you know what this is?”

“Uh-uh.”

He gets a sadistic smirk. “Good. Oh- safewords. Mercy for mercy, obviously, and red to stop. But I  _ doubt _ you’ll be needing them.” You shudder as he sticks whatever it is into your nose- one hook in each nostril. You make a strange noise through your gag as he sets the thin ropes coming from the hooks atop your head. Your eyes water at the strange, though not painful, sensation of the hooks in your nose. “If those fall out of your nose, I’ll be putting the cigarette out on your clit.”

You make a garbled noise. You’d use your safeword before you let him do  _ that _ , but the threat is titillating nonetheless. He grabs another thing from the armchair- the hook. He finally gets off of your back- you shift slightly, your knees and especially your elbows  _ aching _ \- and sits on the edge of the chair. He sets the cold metal hook on your back and you purr at the sensation; he takes your ass cheeks and spreads them wide, exposing your tight hole further. You hear him mutter words of appreciation under his breath and you shudder, feeling a perverted pride run over your body.

He spits on your hole and you jump; he spits again and circles it around your entrance with a finger. “Loosen up,” he demands, and you do your best to obey. When he sticks a finger into your hole, though, your entire colon clenches instinctively.

He slaps your ass hard. “Relax,” he snaps, annoyed. Slowly, you do, and he starts fucking your ass with his finger- not a sensation you’re particularly familiar with. You moan and feel a bit of drool making its way slowly through the tube. Eventually, he adds a second finger, and you do a much better job at allowing it without resistance. “Good slut,” he praises you, absentmindedly caressing your ass with his hand.

Then, he stops. “I’m going to take my fingers out,” he says. “Stay open. I want to see your asshole open. Do you understand me?”

“Yeigh-kk, kk-uhh,” you say, somehow, in an attempt to say ‘yes, sir’. He pulls his fingers out quickly and you strain to keep your asshole open. He doesn’t praise or scold you as he picks up the hook- he spits again, and this time you jump as you feel it land inside, just barely. You struggle not to clench.

He reaches forward and sticks the hook in your mouth through the tube. “Get it wet.”

You slobber and tongue the slightly warmed metal, and he twists and moves it within your mouth. Both of you are watching the inside of your mouth through the tube in the mirror. When he’s satisfied, he removes it and spits on your entrance; you can’t help it, you’ve closed back up. He doesn’t scold you, though, just massages the entrance with his finger before gently pushing the ball against the hole.

You close your eyes and focus on the sensation as he teases and taunts you. Eventually, he pushes it into the first ring, then past the second. You make a deep, throat moan as he sinks it further into your ass, reveling in the sensation of it. You feel a pressure against the wall of your cunt as well.

Fuck. You’re so glad he’s doing this to you, so glad he’s shown you these new toys. You shimmy your hips a bit and silently send out a prayer, begging the universe that he might want to keep you and play with you.

He tugs suddenly on the ropes of the nose hook and you sneeze, nearly forcing them out of your nose. You quickly twist your face until they’re back into place, but then you sneeze again, and again, and again-

He touches your head and suddenly you stop- something washes over you, not dissimilar but certainly distinct from the strange energy of the statue. The remnants of your sneeze disappear off of your face and he adjusts the hooks in your nose. “Good girl,” he says. “Keeping them in.”

He returns to what he had begun, tugging the ropes back and looping them through a hole in the anal hook. He binds it tight and you moan as your ass is stretched up and your head is pulled back. Your eyes water as you gaze at your reflection in the mirror.

Then, he grabs the last thing off of the armchair and reclines back into it. He takes a cigarette out of the pack and lights it, taking a long, slow drag. You watch him, aroused by the sight and the smell and the anticipation. Patiently you wait as he nonchalantly places his legs on your back, one boot all but slamming down on the scar on your shoulder, dirt falling into your hair, onto your body.

Eventually, when the cigarette has burned down and is in need of being ashed, he sits forward and pulls you back haphazardly by the rope. The hook in your ass clashes against the underside of the chair and you yowl suddenly. He uses the nose hook to tug your face back and your eyes begin to water profusely; the drool that had been pooling in your gag suddenly rushes back down and you chortle on it. He flicks the ash off his cigarette using the edge of your gag and you jump as the hot ash meets your tongue, quickly extinguishing itself. You roll your tongue against it and revel in the bitter, filthy taste as he drops your head and reclines once more, almost digging the back of his heel into you this time.

“What a fucking freak,” he says suddenly, sadisticly, his eyes shimmering. “You get the thirteen things you want most in life, and they’re all about getting fucked by a stranger?” You gargle in response and he kicks you. “Footrests don’t fucking talk, whore.”

He watches you through the mirror as you shift slightly, your elbows screaming for respite, your joints aching to be moved. Your eyes are still watery, your nose tingling with the magically suppressed urge to sneeze, your jaw stretched too wide for too long, the side of your tongue burned from the ashes. You can’t feel your feet or your hands.

And yet, you wait patiently as Kylo finishes smoking his cigarette, occasionally yanking you back to ash in your mouth again. When he’s done, he sits on your back again and you whimper in pain. Gently, his fingers caress the side of your throat, pleasing the gentle skin beneath.

Then, he grinds the butt of the cigarette against it and you shriek, flailing slightly. If not for the bondage, you’d have collapsed. You shudder and whimper as you recover, feeling the burning sensation fan out from the point of impact. It smells.

He tosses the butt into your mouth. “Eat it, whore.”

You struggle to do so and feel it the entire way down. Then, however, he frees your nose first- you sneeze five times at the floor- then your ass. After that, he magics away the snot again before freeing your nipples. The sensation of them being removed is ten times more painful than them being on, and you whimper and coo in pain and pleasure. He removes your gag and you lick your lips. He slowly, expertly frees you from the bondage and you collapse against the cold ground, your cunt on fire but your body totally spent. You feel the agonizing tingles spread out through your arms and legs, the pain almost intense enough to make you cry. You notice, towards the end of it, that he’s watching you silently, almost admiring you.

“Raincheck on the coarse rope,” you say tiredly.

He smirks, saying nothing, still gazing at you.

“Please fuck me,” you whisper.

“Beg more.”

“Please,” you whimper. “I need your glorious fucking cock pounding into my pussy.” You flush crimson as the lewd words pass your lips, your body feeling alight with arousal. You feel almost giddy, almost high from the endorphins, the dopamine, or whatever other chemical your brain is gleefully producing. “Fucking breed me like the cum-hungry bitch I am.”

He hisses in a breath at that and slides you forward, spreading your legs and sitting atop your thighs. You can just see him undoing his belt in the mirror as you coo, urged by his actions to keep saying whatever filthy, slutty words come to mind, begging him to fuck you.

He parts your ass cheeks with his hands and effortlessly slides his behemoth cock into your cunt- the position you’re in only makes him feel bigger, your cunt tighter. You sigh in delight as his balls rest against your parted pussy lips, his cockhead pressed into your cervix. You feel as full as could be. “Oh, yes,” you moan. “Thank you, Daddy.”

He gives an animalistic snarl of approval and rocks his hips back and forth, fucking you expertly. You watch him in the mirror. “Please, take your shirt off,” you whine, and he absentmindedly does so, tossing it aside almost angrily as his eyes devour the sight of you, raking over the contours of your back. You watch as his Adonis form twists and rolls as he fucks you hard and sweet; he almost looks like he’s dancing.

It doesn’t take either of you very long, but you savor every moment until you cream on his cock; the end of your orgasm marks the beginning of his and he pumps you full. It might be your imagination, but you can swear you feel every pulsating shot of seed hitting your walls. You imagine his cock fucking past your cervix, painting your womb with his seed- you don’t really care that that’s not how that works, you savor the thought regardless.

When he’s done he pulls out and lays atop of you, this time distributing his weight across you and the leg perched beside you so as to be intimate and cozy rather than overwhelming. He peppers gentle kisses over your shoulder, the scar, the cigarette burn that still throbs and aches. Tired, your eyes close.

Just before you can drift off, however, you feel once more the energy of the statue overtake you.


	6. Hematolagnia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hematolagnia - A sexual fetish for blood which evokes arousal when present on the fetishist's sexual partner, especially if nude. It is often accompanied by licking or drinking blood through bloodletting or biting.

You are no longer in Kylo Ren’s room, that much is for sure.

You blink at your surroundings. You sit in what appears to be a very old, very rustic house, wearing a very old, structured dress with many layers. You look down at your hands- you’re sewing what appears to be a corset. You blink again and continue on, only vaguely aware that this is part of your wish, only vaguely anticipatory of getting fucked by Kylo Ren once more.

The wind howls outside, and the sky is dark through the windows. You rock back and forth slowly, focusing on your work. Far away, you hear the chiming of a clock striking midnight, the hollow echo of a great bell sounding twelve times.

Kylo stands hidden in the trees- you imagine him, picture him in your mind, and yet you know it to be true. He’s peering out at your little, dilapidated cottage, thinking about the lonely, young widow who scarcely makes her way into town anymore.

"Six," says the statue. "Hematolagnia."

The man is hungry- thirsty. His skin crawls with the desire.

He could kill you and no one would know, at least not for weeks. He could be long gone by then, forgotten to the people of this village. He pictured you laying there, on the ground, your soft tits exposed, your dress in tatters. Your hollow eyes are open and deadened, all the color absent from your skin, your mouth agape. Your throat is covered in angry, violent bites- not two tiny little needle pricks, but true teeth marks. You feel your arousal begin to grow at the thought of his fantasy, but you push it out of your conscious mind without a second look.

You can see him in the dark of night, hidden by trees, as he slowly makes his way forward. He wears a proper suit, looking entirely dapper. Despite knowing his thoughts, despite your mental connection, still you jump when he slowly twists the knob, as if you are split into two consciousnesses- the actor and the seer. Your head swivels to the door and you gasp gently as you see the knob twist slowly one way, then slowly the other, and back again. You drop the corset and stand, taking several steps back. Your hand searches for something- it grabs a knife. You hold it out in front of you, shaking.

“Who are you?” you ask. Your voice is foreign, speaking in a tongue that certainly isn’t your own, but you understand it nonetheless. “Go away. I have nothing for you.”

The door is pushed open slowly and you stare at it in terror and confusion. He’s revealed to you then, a tall and broad man with pale skin and dark hair, dark and soulless eyes. He looks at you with a predatory gleam in those eyes. He takes a step forward as a shiver rushes up and down your spine.

You thrust the knife forward. “Leave, sir. No amount of ‘Hail Mary’s can save your soul if you don't.”

He gets a debonair grin, his eyes outright threatening, as he takes another step forward. “My soul? Sweet little morsel… If only you knew.”

“Back, I say. My daddy is a butcher, and he taught me enough to make you sorry.”

The wicked man grins. “Oh, I do love playing with my food… Even moreso when it plays back.”

“Y-”

Suddenly, the composed man grabs the table and throws it against the wall. You jump and whimper as it clatters to the floor. He takes the opportunity to come upon you and wrench the knife out of your hands, press it against your throat. You propel yourself backwards and hit the wall, whimpering as he eyes you with a lustful gluttony. “What a pity,” he said. “That your father taught you to butcher instead of how to defend yourself…” He brings the knife down, slicing your dress open and revealing your chest. The blade slices into the skin between your now-exposed breasts and you whine. “A pretty little thing like you, it’s a miracle I’m the first to come to see you in the night.”

“Please, sir,” you whisper softly. Your chest rises and falls as a small trail of crimson blood pours down your chest; the man watches it, mesmerized. You’re so afraid that it’s difficult to breathe.

He glances up at your prompting, then smiles. “Oh, pet. How pretty you are, your eyes wet, your lip pouted…” He taps your bottom lip with a finger and you whine, only widening his smile. “It would be just so sweet to devour you, to snuff out your precious little soul… But I think I’d rather keep you.”

You shiver and lean your head back against the wall. “Please,” you beg.

“I’m glad you’re happy with that arrangement,” says the man in a dark voice, clearly aware of his misinterpretation. You whimper as he kisses you ravenously, his tongue overtaking your mouth. You flounder and try to push him off but he presses your wrist into the wall above your head using the tip of the knife, then slices a quick slash across your skin. You cry out into his mouth as he teases your skin with the wet blade.

“Please-” you weep.

“Quiet, pet… I might be tempted to rid you of your tongue.”

You make a strangled, frightened noise as he rips open your clothing, lets it fall to your feet. At his prompting you lift each leg one by one so he can kick the useless clothing to the side.

Your arm- the one he cut- aches as blood pours down it. It’s not a lethal slice by any means, but your arm is numb and aching, and of course, infection is a risk.

He brings his blade up your stomach and over his previous cut, then runs over the cut with a finger, collecting the blood. “Open your mouth.”

“I-” you start, but he inserts the bloody finger, plays with your tongue. Your brows furrow at the metallic tang that pours over your senses.

Then, he grabs your wrist and pulls it to his mouth, his tongue pressing itself beneath your skin. You moan in pain as you watch him kiss your wound reverently, sucking on and tasting the blood. His face is quickly covered with blood, and he moans perversely against your skin.

Eventually, he finishes and looks over at you, and suddenly, you feel a prodding at the base of your skull. Your brow furrows before you give reluctantly into it, and you feel him wash over you.

And, suddenly, you are you again- the seer, the knower, standing here in the arms of Kylo Ren rather than some mysterious, ghoulish vampire. “Oh,” you say.

“It wants me to bite you,” he said. “Violently. Worse than the fantasy.”

You look at his face. His words arouse you- the look in his eyes that says he wants it, too, arouses you. But you know you can’t handle that.

He relaxes as if the statue sensed it and immediately removed the urge. But, then- before you can even think- you lean forward and sink your teeth into Kylo’s neck.

He hisses and grabs you instinctively as you break the skin. He cries out and steadies himself after wavering for just a moment. You feel his blood pouring freely into your mouth, the scent and the smell taboo and frightening and delicious and overwhelming. You pull back and bite him again, and again, and again- more shallow this time, barely breaking skin. Your fingers are clawing at his back, and you rip his clothes off eagerly. Eventually, you pull back and lean into the wall to breathe and admire your handiwork.

He looks so fucking hot standing there and drenched in blood. The contrast between that and his porcelain skin is intoxicating. You meet his eyes then. “I- I’m sorry. I didn’t-”

“It’s fine,” he says, taking a step back. “I don’t mind pain, and watching you…” His eyes light up with a sadistic, taunt verve. You coyly hug yourself. “Go feral like that. It was… hot.”

“Oh. Good.” You both stand there for a moment, the taste of one another’s blood lingering in your mouths. Part of you wants to ride him, watch him slice both of you open and bask in the vile, filthy mess you make, but for now you have had enough of this.

You pray that Kylo will keep you around as the increasingly familiar sensation of the energy washes over you yet again.


	7. Kleptophilia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kleptophilia/Kleptolagnia - A paraphilia in which a person is sexually aroused by stealing.
> 
> This one is not smut, it's fluff.

Again, you are entirely elsewhere now. You stand before what appears to be a shop of some sort in an entirely unfamiliar world- a bustling, busy city, not entirely rundown but not pristine and well kept. The sidewalk is clean and cracked in several places; the roads are fine, save for the few potholes that lay near the curb in some places. You’re wearing old, worn jeans covered in rips and old pen markings. The converse shoes you wear are covered in doodles from high school, a bygone era by now. Your striped polo was probably bought in, like, 2003.

The store you stand in front of is a simple drugstore- not even a ma and pa one, a chain. You know you should probably feel bad about stealing, but honestly, fuck whatever millionaire owns this store. Those online myths about hurting the employees aren’t even true. Trying to look casual, you walk inside.

“Seven,” the voice echoes in your head. “Kleptophilia.”

You wander down the makeup aisle, grabbing a few miscellaneous objects that you need. You’ll probably look less suspicious if you spend a few dollars, and it’ll be way cheaper than the Xannies, anyway. You make your way towards the pharmacy to scope it out.

You can see over the counter into its entirety, which was kind of a dumb decision by whoever laid this place out. There’s only one person there- a man, tall and broad, with his back turned to you.

You have two options. Go with the plan, buy your shit, and leave, returning in a few hours through the back door… Or, you could hop the counter and just nab it now.

You’ve always been good at sneaking, at running. You’re flooded with a rush of adrenaline and, strangely enough, arousal. Impulsively, you clear your throat, and the pharmacist turns towards you.

He’s fucking  _ sexy _ . You ignore that for now as he walks towards you, looking strained and unamused. He’s five, maybe ten years older than you. “How can I help you?”

“I have a script for Xanax,” you say.

“Name and date of birth?”

You tell him, as well as produce your I.D. and insurance card. After a moment, he wanders into the shelves- fourth stack, third down, second in. He returns as you burn that into your brain; casually, you glance around as he enters the info into the computer, locating all the cameras.

You could hop the pickup counter and avoid anything but your back being seen. There was a reason you wore weird, ill-fitting clothes; to help avoid detection. You barely looked like you from the  _ front _ .

“Sixty-seven thirty-nine,” he says. You blanch and swivel your head towards him, furrowing your brow. You’ve always been good at acting, too.

“What?”

He looks at you again, his eyes growing surprisingly gentle. “Sixty-seven thirty-nine,” he repeats.

“Did you run my insurance card?”

“Yes. It looks like it doesn’t cover it.”

“Is it the generic?”

“Yes. The name brand would be several hundred dollars for this many at this dose.” You shift and bite your lip, doing your best to act distressed. You do almost feel guilty as the man gives a sympathetic sigh. “I’m sorry. If I had the money, I’d help you out, but I’m stretched thin waiting for my paycheck tomorrow as it is.”

You look at him with genuine gratitude, knowing it could be a bluff. “I get it. Thank you, even just for, you know, saying it.”

“Yeah…”

You look down at the makeup you hold and decide it would be in better taste to return them.

“I can ring that up for you,” he says.

“No…” you say. “I guess I have to save up seventy bucks.”

“Look,” says the pharmacist. You glance at his nametag-  _ Ben _ . “I get paid this Friday. If you still need help by then, my shift starts at five.”

You do feel guilty about stealing. You look into his eyes, pretty and dark and quiet and sweet. “Thank you,” you breathe.

“Do you take them for anxiety?” he asks.

“Yes,” you say.

He sighs and his eyes dart anxiously around the store. “Look. This didn’t happen, but- I take Klonopin. I have a few extra if you promise not to misuse them- benzos can be really dangerous. If you’re just looking to get high, I know some people who can get you some much less risky stuff.”

You blink at him several times. “I- I- yes, please. Thank you. I don’t abuse… Xanax or, um, the other.”

He stares into your eyes- that sentence was really sus, but you are incredibly anxious- before crouching. You hear the sound of him searching through something, and then he stands with a pill bottle. As he opens it, you read his name -  _ Ben Solo _ . He hands you five pills.

“Thank you so much.”

“No problem.” He fastens the lid onto the bottle again.

You feel compelled to speak- “I-I could give you my… My number,” He looks up at you in surprise and you flush crimson, looking down and stuttering even more. “I mean. I didn’t mean to- I just… In case something happens and you can’t help me, o-or-”

“Sure,” he says gently, amused. “I’ll take your number.”

You look at him, see his faint, almost teasing smile. You laugh softly, looking down and quickly scribbling your number onto his hand with a pen. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“I wouldn’t mind if you did.”

You look at him suddenly, feeling struck by a wall. “You- I-I- um…”

Almost in spite of himself, he grins, looking down at his hand. “Take care, Y/N. I’ll text you.”

And then, the magic fades away, the roleplay ending like a curtain falling. You blink several times as you adjust yourself.

He looks at you suddenly, his kind demeanor replaced with the wolfish intensity you had come to expect from Kylo Ren. “What the fuck was that?”

His voice isn’t cruel, but it makes you curl into yourself nonetheless. “I don’t know,” you mutter.

“Your great wish was- was what? Someone… Helping you?”

“No,” you all but pout, shifting. You look down at the pills and decide to pop one in your mouth and swallow it, hoping it would help- he did say it was for anxiety. “I was gonna hop the counter and steal it. The wish was kleptophilia. And then, I don’t know, you’d probably catch me and then fuck me and it would have been hot and mean and…”

He looks at you, mouth agape, eyes amused. “Why didn’t you do that, then? Why did it end?”

“Because! You were nice, and I felt bad, and then you took my number, and then…” You shrug, pouting. He laughs at you, not necessarily cruel but certainly not nice. You scowl at him.

“I’ll have to keep that kink in mind, then,” Kylo said, his voice sounding like a warning. You shudder and look away, set the pills on the counter.

And, then, the energy consumes you again.


	8. Klismaphilia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Klismaphilia - sexual arousal from introducing liquids into the rectum and colon via the anus. Often involves the use of enemas.
> 
> No mention of scat or even enemas, but there is, you know, 'introducing [of] liquids into the rectum and colon via the anus'.

Finally, you find yourself once more in Kylo Ren’s chambers- this time, you sit on the edge of a bathtub, the open door revealing his now-familiar bedroom. Kylo Ren stands in front of the sink, chugging a large glass of water. Finally, you’re both naked. You admire his sculpted back and his shapely rear, his strong legs.

You want to peg him. You wonder if that’ll be one of your wishes…

He sets the empty cup down and turns around, leaning against the counter. He eyes you fondly, and you glow under his gaze. “What do you want, pet?”

“Eight,” says the sculpture. “Klismaphilia… Take your time.”

You blink. You don’t even know what that word means. You slink backwards into the large tub. “Bathe with me.”

Kylo walks to the door and closes it, dimming the lights faintly. “Ah. Another break, I see.”

“No, just… Slowly easing into it.” You know, somewhere, what this is leading up to, but the statue hides it from you. Maybe Kylo will initiate it- that would be hot. He climbs into the tub and, eventually, a bath has been run and you lay contentedly atop of him, your head burrowed in the crook of his neck. The scars on his neck from your teeth are faint and barely distinguishable. You stroke them absentmindedly.

One of his large hands is on your lower back, the other stroking the leg that’s cast over him, your hip, your ass. He squeezes and slaps you gently every once in a while, the noise on the water great and sudden, then gently caresses the skin again. “Would you hold me if this weren’t my fantasy?”

“I told you,” Kylo says. “That statue isn’t strong enough to make me do anything.”

You sit up, straddling his waist. You place your forehead gently on his. “That’s not an answer.”

He rolls his eyes, turning his head to the side. But he doesn’t look annoyed so much as uncomfortable, out of his element. “Yes. I would.”

You kiss his neck, his collarbone. “Did you want me before?”

“No.”

It stings, and you can’t help but recoil. He tenderly rubs your back, your ass. His eyes are soft, gentle- he looks like he had when he was Ben. You look into his eyes, your throat wet and swollen. “I didn’t know anything about you other than that you had deserted. I didn’t know you.”

You are slightly comforted by that. You look down at his chest and stroke the skin softly. Everything is wet and smooth and hot and dim. Everything is romantic and intimate. You feel- oddly close to him, too attached. “How long has this been happening?”

“Time… Doesn’t really exist right now. It’s all the Force.”

“The Force?”

Kylo sighs softly and briefly explains the energy, the will of the statue. “That’s why you… We… Are closer than we might ought to be. We’re in the Force- we’re connected to one another- we’re sleeping together and holding each other and… Learning about some pretty extreme shared interests.”

You look into his eyes, then study his face. You sear his image into your soul. “I… I want to know that you’ll keep me. I don’t want to be without you.”

He gets an arrogant smirk. “I’ll keep you, pet. I promise.”

You lay against him, slinking lower to listen to his heartbeat. Again, yours slowly drifts into sync with his. You could melt into him, be one with him.

And then, somehow, you do. It’s sudden and strange, but in the next moment, you have melted together into one body- his body. Your brains are connected like a spectrum of red to blue, every shade of purple captured in between. You blink and shudder as you- the two of you as one- adjust.

**You’ve got some, ah, strange desires.**

_ Shut up. _

Your hand- whether of Kylo’s volition or your own or the conglomeration of you- moves towards your flaccid cock and strokes it gently, feeling the way the water dances over it behind your strokes. You- the blue you- marvel at the strange, new sensation of having a cock, of sexual pleasure with a cock.

You want him to facefuck you again, but one brief attempt leaves it apparent that that’s going to have to wait until later. Mentally, he laughs at you, deeply amused.

Your hand- it’s so weird to see it, to move and be different and to see this very different arm where your arm ought to be- moves forward and you pull yourself to your feet. Absentmindedly you drain the tub and step out of it, heading towards the shower instead.

You bask in the heat and marvel at the feel of the body you’re in, rubbing your hands over the familiar contours and planes- familiar to Kylo from this angle, and familiar to you from another. You’re consumed by his intense arrogance, his palpable pride, as you marvel at his beauty. You jerk off again for a moment before a devious thought enters your mind.

You lean forward, placing your cheek against the cool tile and arching your back- Kylo’s back. You eye his faint reflection in the shower door and nearly swoon at the sight of him so exposed, so uncharacteristic. It’s strange to him, but not in an unwelcome way.

You reach back and spread his cheeks. You’ve thought about this countless times… Gently, you take a page from his book and slowly circle around his entrance, mentally loosening the muscles. You can feel him in his head with you, silently experiencing the sensation for the first time. Tapping into his expertise, you stretch his hole open and feel the water rush inside of you.

You both moan in unison, leaving the cry that leaves your shared, parted lips very skewed between both of your voices. You find yourself wishing one of the lower spouts were on-

And then suddenly, as if you’ve done it countless times before, you send out a rush of energy to turn them on- you use the Force to turn them on.

He moans in surprise as it floods into his colon, filling him up. You pur at the sensation, the voice raising; you moan and speak out of your throat, your head, and he does out of his chest, his gut.

“Fuck, yes,” you sigh. The voice is foreign and unfamiliar- you speak like you, but through his vocal chords. You arch your back and feel it flood inside of you, stretching your stomach. It’s so warm, so nice. His hand trails towards his cock and he pumps it expertly. You stand up and feel the water inside you shift, and you struggle to keep it inside just for a bit. You lean backwards, your back against the shooting spouts, as his hand grows faster and more impatient on his cock. You can feel your stomach turning and rolling… After a moment, you release, and the water slowly makes its way out of you in spurts.

You come into his hand, and it’s strange- your brain is sent spiralling into orgasm first, and it yanks him behind you, but he doesn’t quite reach you. You both experience both at once, rolling over one another like a lag in a signal. After both of you have finished, you sit there for a moment, and then- just as quickly as before- you fall out of him and into your own body. You grab the wall for support as you readjust.

“Wow,” you say dreamily.

“That was… Different,” he says. You turn and look up at him, his calm, handsome face. He has the faintest hint of a smirk. You stand on the tips of your toes and kiss him once, twice, three times.

And then, it’s off to the next wish.


	9. Lactophilia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lactophilia - a sexual fetish for lactating breasts and breastfeeding
> 
> Reader is pregnant in this chapter.

You find yourself lying in his bed, your back and butt pressed against him, his arms wrapped loosely around you. You frown as you instantly are aware of- several differences.

One- your stomach is… Bigger. Faintly. You touch it, and the skin is stiff. You shove the blankets away and look down; it is definitely bigger, by at least as much as his stomach was a few moments ago.

“What?” Kylo asks.

Two- your breasts are definitely bigger, and they… Ache. They feel  _ full _ . You touch them experimentally and frown… The sensation is not entirely new, just… Different.

“What’s wrong?” His hands follow yours and scoop your breast gently into his hand. You shiver at the sensation.

“Nine,” the statue says. “You want to know what he wants from you, what he wishes for from you… Lactophilia.”

“Mmm,” he sighs happily into your hair. He fingers lazily twists around your nipple and then-

It  _ leaks _ .

“What the fuck is going on?” Your voice is very confused, slightly afraid. You stare at your different, foreign body.

“What? You- you’re lactating, Y/N. Because you’re pregnant.” He explains.

You blink and frown. “I’m pregnant?”

“Yeah.” His hand moves over your stomach. “A few months.”

“What’s  _ lactating _ ?”

Kylo grumbled under his breath. “I told Hux he needs better schooling for the stormtroopers… None of you know anything.”

“Hey,” you snap, slightly offended.

“Lactating happens, often when you’re pregnant, and your breasts produce milk to feed the baby. It starts during pregnancy, long before the baby’s born.”

You turn over and face him; he holds you almost reverently, his eyes calm and tired and blissful. “Why do you want me lactating?”

He blinks. “What?”

“The voice- do you not hear it, too? It said… I want to know what you want from me.”

He looks down, frowning, rubbing his thumb against your stomach. “Shh,” he says.

And you do. This is his fantasy, and since he wants you to drop it, you do. You could try and ask him to help you overcome it like he does, but you don’t. His hand returns to your breast and continues toying with your nipple, seemingly transfixed with the milk he gently pumps out.

It feels good, of course- he’s playing with your nipple. There is also a weird release of pressure- that’s why you’re breasts hurt. They are full.

Your cunt sings to life as his other hand finds your other nipple. After a few moments, he lowers his head and takes one of your nipples into his mouth, suckling and rolling it with his tongue, taunting it with his teeth.

You cry out and shudder, thrusting one hand down to your folds and tossing one leg over his. After a moment, he moves his head to the other nipple and slides his fully erect cock into your folds, rubbing against your slick core.

“Oh, God,” you moan. “Fuck me, Ben.”

He tenses and shudders as the name spills itself over your lips, but he wordlessly pulls you up with him and into his lap. He positions you so he can harpoon his cock right into you and still easily reach your breasts. You work together, him thrusting up and you swaying and rolling your hips. You moan and whimper and clutch onto his big, broad shoulders.

For a moment you revel in the fact that you’re swollen with his seed, that you carry his child. You shudder and grip his hair in your hand, feeling it's downy softness. “Fuck, baby- I love you so much.”

He growls in approval and bites down softly on your nipple, leaving you to wonder if you meant it, or his fantasy prompted it, or both.

He presses two fingers into your entrance, lubricated by your drenched cunt, and stretches you open- then raises you up and slams you back down, his dick now in your ass.

You let out a loud and shocked noise as he takes your hips and fucks himself with your body, letting out a loud whimper and the delectable pain crashes over your mind like a tsunami. It fades away as the pleasure grows and over takes it, and you’re left making rough animalistic noises as you drool thoughtlessly.

God, this is better than getting fucked in the front.

“Oh, yes, yes, yes,” you purr, fully confident that this is you and not his fantasy. “Fuck my whore ass, daddy,”

He snarls aloud and slaps your ass. “Oh, fuck yeah,” he growls. “Fuck yeah, baby.” You begin moving your own hips again and he takes the opportunity to leave one hand trailing up to join his mouth at your breasts, the other dropping down to fuck and stroke your cunt. His head leans away then, but his finger keeps milking your breasts.

It doesn’t take you long at all to explode into an orgasm. You all but scream, letting your head fall back as your thrusts and sways become desperate and rhythmless. He fucks you for a few more moments, snarling under his breath. You can’t make out what he says- until you do. “I love you,” his voice is gravelly and nearly inhuman. He chants it quietly as his eyes roll back into his head, and then he explodes, grinding the words out a few more times as he pumps your ass full of his cum. You moan and lay your head on his shoulder, gently kissing and suckling on his skin.

You stay there, his half-hard cock still buried inside of you, in his arms. His hand ceases its torment of your nipples, but they continue to leak out onto his chest. He holds you silently.

The air around you is different. He feels again uncomfortable, out of his element. It almost feels like anger- but more like frustration.

You look inside yourself for a long moment to make sure that your following words are true- “I love you, too, Ben.”

You don’t know the significance of that name. You don’t know why, as per his fantasy, he wanted you to moan Ben instead of Kylo.

He flinches again before pulling you in closer, holding you tighter, and the frustration fades to a simple, gentle, forlorn love.

You lay there together for a long time, basking in each other's presence and taking comfort in your closeness.

Then, inevitably, the Force returns to whisk you away once more.


	10. Piquerism

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Piquerism - a sexual interest in penetrating the skin of another person with sharp objects (such as pins, razors, knives, etc.). Sometimes, this is serious enough to cause extreme injuries or even death. Piquerism is a paraphilia as well as a form of sadism.

You blink several times- you’re still right there, in Ben’s arms, but no longer pregnant nor lactating. You notice a small chest on the bed that had not been there before off to the side, but you linger in his arms for a moment longer. Eventually, you pull away and grab the box, eyeing it with lazy interest.

“Ten… Piquerism.”

You frown slightly and open the box, revealing a slew of tools- needles, blades, a screwdriver- and you suddenly know exactly what this wish is.

You clamber off of his lap and lay back, setting the open chest beside you. “Tie me down,” you say. “We’re gonna play pretend.”

Ben tilts his head as he looks at you, intrigued. “Oh?”

“I know the safewords- mercy and red. Don’t stop unless I say those words, okay?”

You see an exhilarated rush pass through his eyes. “Such a naughty little thing, aren’t you, pet?” He moves towards the nightstand and fishes out the coarse rope. You watch as he binds your wrists to the headboard and wraps up your abdomen again. He glances down at your legs as if considering, then leaves them be.

“Ready?” You ask excitedly.

You’ve never done this with anyone. You’ve hurt yourself- small amounts, of course, out of fear- and you’ve dreamed about pretending, but you never have. Ben eyes your bound body for a moment, then nods. “Yes.”

Like a switch, your face twists into terror and fear. “No,” you whisper. “Who are you? Where am I? What- what do you want from me?”

He rolls his eyes, though whether at your acting or in character you don’t know. “Do yourself a favor and shut up.”

“Who the fuck do you think you are?”

Ben looks over at the box and reaches in, picking up a screwdriver. He looks deliberately into your eyes. “I won’t kill you.”

You know, somehow- the Force, you assume- what’s happening, and that he’s giving you a chance to use your safewords before he dives head first into such an  _ intense _ thing. “What are you-”

He moves lightning fast, and yet it happens in slow motion. He pulls his arm back and plunges the entirety of the screwdriver, save the handle, deep into your gut- below your ribs on your right side. You scream loudly, and though it hurts, the initial blow isn’t nearly as painful as you would have assumed it to be. When he pulls it out of you he looks at it nonchalantly, looking very pleased with himself. Blood drips off of the tip and onto your exposed stomach as the pain really hits- hot, intense, throbbing pain. You look down at it, and though it’s bleeding, it seems to be minimal, given what just happened.

“Oh, my god,” you say shakily. “You just stabbed me. Y… You just fucking  _ stabbed _ me!”

“You don’t say,” he mutters, setting the screwdriver aside. “Shut your mouth unless you’d like to lose that pretty little tongue.”

You whimper, silencing, but try very hard to send to him the message-  _ but I want to talk back _ . You see it register in his eyes, and he nods faintly, as if acknowledging it with a proper nod would ruin the mood. He picks up a needle.

“Actually…” he says, studying it. “Open your mouth and stick out your tongue.”

You whimper and struggle, but as he moves closer you stick out your tongue in fear. The fantasy, unlike the vampire one, stays distinct and conscious, but that doesn’t stop the fear- the fear is part of the appeal.

The needle is thick and long and terrifying. He grabs your tongue and slowly- excruciatingly slowly- presses the point against your tongue. You whimper and cry out, trying not to move, as tears finally flood your eyes- how you hadn’t cried from the stab wound is beyond you. As he slowly presses the needle through your tongue, you weep, shaking beneath him.

When he’s done he pulls it out and leans down, kissing you deeply. You cry and whimper as your tongues dance against one another- yours pathetically, sadly, and his sadistically, digging into the fresh wound, spreading the blood over your mouth. Then, he bites down hard on your tongue- for a moment, you think he might really bite it off, but he doesn’t, just pulls back.

“Why are you doing this?” you weep, your voice strained by the wound and your sobs.

Ben looks over your body dramatically. “Why not?” You struggle and flail, and he plants himself right on your stomach- right on your wound. You cry out and whimper. “Come on now, pet. Behave.”

“What do you want?” You plead. “I’ll do whatever you want just  _ please _ stop hurting me.”

“Well, you  _ see _ ,” Ben says, rifling through the chest. “I can’t do that.”

“Yes, you can- please, just-”

“No, I can’t.”

“W- Why not?”

Ben gives you a cheery but sinister smile. “The only thing I want you to do is hurt, and bleed, and lay there, and cry.”

“ _ Pleeaase _ ,” You beg, crying once more. “Please- I’ll do anything. Anything. I’ll do everything you want- I… I’ll help you find someone else. Just please, please, please stop hurting me.”

“Oooh,” Ben says, his voice dripping with a malicious pleasure. “Just a few more cuts and we can play together, pet.”

“No, no, no no no no-”

“Yes,” Ben says, taking a knife and strategically jabbing it into your breast- right at the underside, beneath it. You scream again, half out of pain and half out of anguish. He twists it gently, causing a searing, surreal pain immediately. You cry out again and then bite down on your tongue. When he removes the blade, you will your jaw to relax and blood floods your mouth. You cough gently and a pool of blood and spit pours out of your mouth. He makes a low, pleased sound as he watches.

“Oooh, good girl- you’re already playing along, aren’t you?”

“Please,” you breathe, still crying. Your breast and stomach are on fire, your mouth aches and throbs, the taste of blood overwhelms you, and you feel suddenly drained.

It’s  _ delectable _ .

He picks up the screwdriver again and you scream in response- “No! No, no no! You fucking psycho- stop it!”

“Nasty, nasty mouth!” Ben scolds, dropping the screwdriver. “You need to be punished for that.”

“Please, just let me go,” you weep. “I’ll do anything. You can keep me like this- all tied up, like a toy… And I can help you, and I’ll fuck you- I’ll suck your dick- I’ll do  _ everything _ you want, just let me go.”

“Mmmm,” Ben says. “You’re a fucking slut, aren’t you?”

“I- I- I’ll be your slut! I can be your slut. I’ll be your slut- please, please, please let me be your slut.”

Ben’s grinning now. He strokes your face gently. “Ah-ah-ah,” he says. “You still need to be punished for that mouth of yours.”

“I’m sorry,” you whine. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean it- I was just scared. I’m sorry, I am so, so- no! No no no no!”

He picks up the knife and moves it towards your face. You kick and scream and your flail. “Sit still,” he snaps. “You sit still and you take your punishment like a good girl or you won’t get to play, and that means that you’re only going to get more cuts.”

You whimper and lay still, staring at the blade as he slowly moves it towards your eye…

You watch it, your breath stopping. You bet it would feel delightful to feel him slowly press it into your eye… You wonder if it would pop like a balloon…

“Mercy,” you gasp, waiting for the last moment to do so, riding out the fear and the arousal. As if nothing had happened, he slides the knife down your cheek instead, then up over your brow. It’s not deep but it stings instantly, and the blood quickly covers your face.

“Good girl.’

You exhale in relief, too in the moment to keep acting. “Oh, my god…”

“There. Are you ready to play nice now?”

“Yes,” you whine. “Yes, I’ll be good.”

He uses the knife to cut the arm restraints, then eyes you as you rub the raw markings they’ve left behind.

Then, suddenly- you grab a knife and swing it, stabbing the air right next to his head before he can react. He grabs you in surprise, but the blade rests beside his ear- it looks like you nicked it by accident. “I win,” you say with a little coy smile.

He grins at you- again, whether a natural reaction or in character, you don’t know. The Force comes to lead you into the next wish before you can find out.


	11. Salirophilia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Salirophilia - a paraphilic sexual fetish in which individuals experience sexual arousal from soiling or disheveling the object of their desire.
> 
> Wet And Messy fetish, aka 'sploshing' - a form of sexual fetishism whereby a person becomes aroused when copious amounts of a substance are applied to the naked skin, face, or to clothing.

“Eleven- salirophilia.”

You look around and find yourself once more in Ben’s tub. You touch your face, your stomach- your wounds have healed. You touch your breast, which is undisturbed save for a jagged scar on its underbelly.

Ben stands before you, just outside of the tub. You look down and see a strange, thick, viscous… Fluid? Filling the tub around your feet. Ben looks at it dubiously, then shoots a lightheartedly judgemental expression towards you. You stick your tongue out at him in response.

“Sit down,” he says.

“In the- what?”

His critical look intensifies. “I don’t think this is the type of fantasy in which you want to make me repeat myself.”

You look down at the mess and tentatively move one leg, feeling the strange, foreign substance move against your leg. It clings to your skin in a strange way but still allows you to move.

_ Fuck _ . It’s hot. You imagine how strange it will feel on your cunt, your ass, when you sit.

“Y/N-” Ben starts, his voice low and stern. You look up at him and bite your lip, then lower yourself into it, sitting cross-legged.

The sensation of it beneath your parted folds is intoxicating. You moan and flush in lust and shame and sheepishly wiggle your hips, feeling it slosh against your most sensitive skin. “Oh,  _ fuck _ .”

Without warning, Ben grabs you by the hair and wrenches you to the side, shoving your entire body beneath the surface. You gasp, and though luckily you have the wherewithal not to inhale, the slime makes its way into your mouth and clings to your tongue, your mouth, your throat-

He yanks you back up and you cough out what you had gasped in, try desperately to wipe it off of your eyes in vain. Suddenly, it bursts out of the jets in the tub, and then slowly begins to rain down from above, coating you in the liquid. It’s a nigh impossible battle to breathe properly, especially as an unseen Ben torments and taunts you, pinching and twisting and shoving and disorienting you.

It’s so fucking hot.

Eventually, though, the onslaught ends and the slime that clings to you fades away enough to let you breathe, let you open your eyes. You can see yourself in the mirror behind Ben- your hair is filthy, your body strange and defiled. You stare at the reflection for a long moment, taken with it, before looking back up at Ben.

He’s smiling, amused. “You look surprisingly hot like that,” he says. “I’ll have to be sure to treat you to a  _ mud bath  _ every once in a while.”

You don’t question the malicious way he says that, just relax against the back of the tub, still panting.

And then you’re taken away once more.


	12. Somnophilia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Somnophilia - Fondling, caressing, or performing other sexual acts on someone who is asleep, in a coma, or otherwise incapacitated.
> 
> A chapter in which I discover I have a foot fetish, apparently. So, that's new.

You’re in the corner of Ben’s room, perched on the armchair in the dark. You can see his sleeping form on the bed and you know what this scenario is meant to be before the voice tells you.

“Twelve,” it says. “Somnophilia.”

You get to your feet, and you want to walk over to Ben and have your way with him… But it feels wrong. All the other times, he was awake and alert, and he assured you the statue wasn’t strong enough to force him into anything.

But now he’s asleep. You have no idea how to know if he’s okay with something, if he would be able to prevent having it forced upon him by the statue.

Force. The Force. Something compels you to try to use it to tell… Though the limited experience you have with it consists solely of having turned the spout on. You creep forward slowly, looking at him closer. He lays on his stomach, his arms crossed beneath his pillow, his face turned towards you. He’s motionless and his face gentle, blissful.

You don’t know how you do it. You don’t know how you know how to do it. But, you pour yourself into him just like he had done to you, and you see him, and you feel him, as if you’ve tucked yourself into his head. He sees you and he seems to be waiting, expecting something, but you don’t know how to talk, how to convey-

He pulls you in, somehow, and then- strictly in his head- you see him physically in front of you, and you look down and you see yourself… Or, an image of yourself. How he sees you. Your skin is softer, your body more appealing. The sight of your own self is angelic despite no real differences being present. You look up at him.

“It’s somnophilia,” you say- in his head, in his imagination. “I… I’m gonna… Play with you.”

He looks amused. “Alright…”

“While you’re asleep.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And I… I wanted to make sure that’s okay.”

Ben laughs. “I’ve literally stabbed you. Several times. Have at it, love- do whatever you want.”

You flush a little, feeling silly. “Okay.” You shift closer, wondering if you can touch him like this. You stand on the tips of your toes and kiss him gently, sweetly. “Dream of me.”

“As you wish.”

And then, you’re out- out of his imagination, out of his mind. You blink as you readjust, see him still laying there, entirely undisturbed.

You slowly pull the blanket off of him, careful not to do anything sudden, anything loud. You reveal his naked body beneath the sheet, admire his perfect body. You can’t help but slink onto the bed, run your hand gently over his back, feeling his gentle, relaxed muscles.

You moan gently. Just touching him, feeling him, has your cunt on fire. Just being here and feeling scandalous- knowing you could wake him up at any time- makes you dizzy with desire.

You’ve ruined other fantasies, why couldn’t you ruin this one, too?

Your hand smooths over his muscular ass, gripping it gently. His breath changes slightly and you release slowly, move your hand down his strong, hairy thighs.

You want him to sit on your face. You want to taste him. When he wakes up, you’ll have him do that.

But, for now… You’re all alone with his beautiful body and you’re going to have your way with it.

You gently urge his body to turn, to roll, and it does- you stop touching him and stay completely still as he rolls onto his back, still asleep, and wait for him to settle once more. He snores slightly now, and you can see his stunning face fully now. You lean forward and you kiss his gentle, soft lips, feel his hot breath on you. You lick his lips, up his cheek, his eyelid, just like you had the statue. You worship his face gently, until you accidentally let a mewl slip gently through your lips. You pull away slowly as he makes a soft noise in his sleep, your heart pounding.

You wait for a while before moving down to his nipples, gently kissing and suckling on one while you tease the other with a feather-light touch. They grow stiff and pointed in your mouth, and he moans periodically, shifting. You gently move your knee over his, up his thigh, to his slowly stiffening cock.

When you’ve finished with his nipples you carefully make your way to the end of the bed and kiss the tops of his feet gently. They’re almost frighteningly large, and soft, and you run your tongue along them, suckle on his big, round toes one by one. He shifts and sighs a lot.

You move to the other side to lick and stroke the bottoms of his feet for a while before pulling back suddenly- silently, as he turns over once more, muttering something under his breath. You sit and wait for a long time.

You want to fuck him, but you can’t risk rifling through his nightstand in the hopes that he might have a strap-on. Why wouldn’t the statue provide you with one?

And then, you get an idea. Before you can even wonder if it’s something you can do, something that anyone could do, you close your eyes and you focus.

And, when you open them and look down, you just… Have a cock, hard and ready. You stroke it experimentally, and it feels indistinguishable from when you had been merged with Ben, when he’d jerked himself off with you within him.

You move forward and spread his hefty legs just a bit- just enough- just like he’d done to you. You feel a rush of excitement as you quietly cover your fingers in your own spit.

And you just can’t resist. You lower yourself a bit and gently part his asscheeks, running your tongue along his entrance. He inhales sharply, then exhales slowly. You circle and twist your tongue along the strange, smooth skin. You give it a gentle, sloppy kiss before straightening and wedging your relatively small frame in between his thick thighs and continue prodding at his entrance with your fingers, copying his own earlier ministrations. You let your spit trail down to your cock and shudder at the feeling of it, stroking it gently as you ready his ass for your cock.

Eventually, with a rush hitherto unparalleled, you lean forward and slip your thick, meaty cock into Ben’s ass.

“Fuck,” you gasp aloud, gently leaning all the way in, reveling in the strange, glorious sensation of his insides until your hips are flush with his ass. He inhales sharply, slowly waking up, but you’ve achieved what you had wanted to while he slept. You pull your hips back and then slam your cock all the way back in.

He lets out a loud, guttural moan and you slap his ass in response. “Good morning, sleeping beauty,” you say brazenly, thrusting in and out.

“Oh- fuck,” he says. You see him yawn slightly after that, gripping the pillow.

“You like that, baby? You like my cock in your tight little virgin ass?”

He gathers himself up and hoists himself onto his knees, his ass in the air and his cheek still on the pillow, and leans back a bit. “Yeah,”

You slap his ass. “That’s no way to talk to your princess, is it, whore?”

“No, princess,” he says. You stroke his ass just like he did with you, feeling very happy with yourself. “Fuck,” he groans. You can feel him clench and loosen around you.

It takes everything in you not to cum then and there. “Such a good little whore,” you mutter, then lean forward and reach around, hooking your fingers in his mouth and pulling his head back. You fuck him harder, faster, pounding into him with wild abandon. He groans and grunts often.

“Princess,” he mumbles through his open mouth. “May I please jack off?” His words are almost incomprehensible behind your fingers.

“Hmmm,” you taunt, slamming yourself into the hilt and grinding into him for a moment. “Since you asked so nicely- but  _ don’t _ you dare cum, do you understand me?”

“Yes, princess- thank you, princess.”

You fuck him for a while longer, until you can’t take it. Precum leaks out of your tip. Slipping your fingers out of his mouth, you yank yourself backwards and he groans in protest as you leave him gaping. “Keep it open, whore,” you snarl, then lean forward as you watch his entrance twitch as he struggles to do as he’s bid. You run your tongue over the opening ring, dipping inside against his strange, textured walls. You taste the faint hint of your own precum and moan- he loses his strength and his ass clenches down around your tongue. After giving him a few long, sloppy kisses, you pull away. “Stop stroking yourself and give me that pretty mouth.”

“Yes, princess,” he says, turning around. When he looks up at you, his eyes still hold that playfully critical verve.

You decide then that you’re going to fuck that out of him.

You slam into his open mouth and he gags violently around you, yanking back. He coughs for a moment, his hand on his throat. He looks a bit nonplussed. “Um- mercy,” he mutters.

You grin. Your cock is smaller than his, and you took all of him with little struggle. “Aw, little baby can’t take it?”

He looks up at you, still amused, but he seems to be conveying something else- a  _ touché _ of sorts. “Yes, srincess. I’m sorry, princess.”

“Shut up and suck my cock clean.” Without a word, but a strange expression on his face, he slowly licks and suckles on your cock. “Does that taste good, slut? Can you taste your ass on my dick?”

He groans and nods in response, filling you with a prideful glee.

You moan and thrust forward occasionally, careful not to go too far, but you make him gag several times.

You definitely don’t want to be in control often, just… Sometimes.

You’re infatuated with the feel of his slow, tender, hot mouth, the sight of him as he obediently sucks your cock without hesitation.

You explode in his mouth, gently urging him to take you in as deeply as he can, and he does, swallowing it all. His mouth is like a vice pulling the cum out of you, and you shiver as the orgasm flows through you. Then, you pull away.

“Lay down on you back beneath me,” you say.

“Yes, princess,” he says, and lays there. You impale your cunt on his cock, grinding your hips against his. He moans loudly and shudders.

“Oh, fuck yes,” he says. “Thank you, princess.”

“Mmm,” you reply, riding him fast and almost angry. His cock stirs your still tender skin and it feels so much more intense. You swing your foot up and push it into his face. “Worship my feet, slut.”

He does, and it tickles. You giggle and shift, trying to decide if you’re altogether fond of the strange sensation, deciding you prefer it when he sucks on your toes. You tire of that eventually, though, and pull up, reclining on the bed and spreading your legs. “Lick me,” you say. “Lick my cunt and my ass.”

And he does, moving forward silently and lavishing you with expert skill. You moan and grind into him, grab his hair and yank his head around like he had done to you. For a moment you focus and rid yourself of the delightful cock so that you can see him as he worships your sex.

“Fuck yes,” you whimper. “So good, baby, you’re so fucking good.”

“Thank you, princess,” he mutters into your clit- the air feels strange and amazing against your hot, sensitive flesh, and you moan louder. Getting the hint, he incorporates gently blowing on your skin every once in a while.

And then you cum- in a much different way than you had before. Your cum, thinner than his and entirely clear, sprays out and you scream, body twitching as the second orgasm rakes violently through your body. You hear him snarl in approval, then yank his head back in punishment. He eyes you with adulation and love, and your heart flutters. You shove him away.

“Fuck my pussy, slut- and you better do well.”

“Yes, princess- thank you, princess.” He curls into you, his lips on your temple, and fucks you as good as he ever has, moaning a lot more than he had before. Your hands ravage his body, stroking and scratching, caress his nipples and delve into his mouth.

“Fuck,” he gasps breathlessly. “May I cum, princess?”

“No.”

He makes a guttural, broken noise. His thrusts grow ever more feral, his grunts more primitive. After a while, he asks again- “Please, please, please let me cum, princess. Please let me cum.”

“You wanna cum?”

“Yes- fuck yes, princess, please, may I cum?”

“You wanna fucking cum for me, whore?”

He makes a shaky whine. “Please, yes, princess, let me fucking cum for you. Let me cum in your perfect fucking cunt.”

You grab his hair and kiss him deeply. “Cum for me,” you mutter, then kiss him again. He moans as his thrusts become erratic, crying out into your mouth as he pumps you full.

He collapses atop you then, his face on your chest, wrapping his arms around you and holding you. You stroke his hair gently and kiss the top of his head. Your body is overstimulated, exhausted. You send a silent prayer to the statue, begging it to let you fall asleep with Ben for a while before starting the last wish.

“You’re good at that,” Ben whispers into your skin.

“What?”

“All of it.”

You coo happily. “I’m glad. You don’t seem too into it.”

He snorts. “I’m into it.”

“Okay. Good.”

“Mm.”

You fall asleep there, and presumably, so does he, clinging to one another as if for dear life.


	13. Urolagnia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Urolagnia - a paraphilia where one gains sexual pleasure from urine and/or urination

You wake up in Ben’s bed alone. You frown and sit up, yawning, before you hear noise outside of the door. Sore and yet utterly satisfied, you stand, wandering into the bathroom.

You see Ben’s obscured form through the shower door, watching him move as he runs his hands through his hair. You consider joining him before settling on watching him silently instead. You move to sit on the toilet lid, quiet as a mouse.

He finishes relatively quickly, then opens the door. He looks at you, glances over your naked form, and moves silently to the towel awaiting him. After he quickly dries his hair and moves the towel to his body, he finally speaks- “Goodmorning, love.”

“Goodmorning, sexy,” you say, flushing slightly, a coy grin forming on your face. “How’s your ass feel?”

He chuckles. “Significantly looser.”

“My cock was pretty big, wasn’t it?”

“Mmm.” He finishes drying himself then tosses the towel into the hamper. He glances in the mirror for just a moment, ruffling his hair, then grabs the clothing that sits on the counter beside him, changing into it. You watch him, content to admire him. You ponder whether you’d prefer a shower or a bath. When he’s done changing, he looks at you. “Get up.”

“No.”

“I have to piss.”

“That sucks.”

He gives you that stern look. “Get up or I’ll piss on you.”

“Thirteen,” says the statue. “Urolagnia.”

You look up at Ben’s beautiful obsidian eyes. You’re well past shame, well past embarrassment. You lean forward, a coquettish gleam forming in your eyes, and you open your mouth, tongue lolling out.

He actually chuckles, pauses, and then gives a full, hearty laugh. “Such a filthy fucking slut, aren’t you?”

“Ahhh,” you say, stroking the skin of your chest with gentle fingers to say you want him to piss all over you, not just in your mouth.

He unzips his pants, freeing his cock from within them, and aims it at you. You watch with interest as a stream shoots out of it and strikes you right in the eye- it stings slightly. The smell is largely inoffensive, and the taste makes you reflectively cringe, but you keep your mouth open wide as he drenches you with his piss. As the stream dies down, you lean forward and force yourself to swallow the piss in your mouth, letting his stream end in your hair.

Without a word he drops to his knees and tugs you forward until you’re perched on the edge of the toilet, then sits behind you and pulls your arms around his neck. You lean back as his fingers find your cunt, his index finger nuzzling against your tiny little urethra. He strokes it gently, his other hand finding your breast and kneading it roughly. His mouth finds your ear and he kisses and bites the rim of it as his finger toys with your urethra. You moan and shudder at the strange, foreign feel of it.

And then you piss, the stream jutting out towards the tile floor. His finger deflects the stream and keeps that strange pressure on your urethra, making the experience almost as intoxicating as if he were toying with your clit.

“Fuck,” you moan. “Fuck yes.”

“So fucking filthy,” Ben snarls delightedly against your ear. “You’re a vile fucking degenerate, aren’t you?”

“Yes, Daddy,” you coo, rolling your hips against his hand and pushing as hard as you can, willing every ounce of piss out of your bladder. “I’m your nasty little fucktoy.”

“Mmm, yes you fucking are,”

Eventually, the stream ends and you lean back into him, relaxing for a moment.

You feel the statue’s energy- the Force- fade away, leaving you here in reality, in Kylo Ren’s arms- in Ben Solo’s arms. You revel in that for a moment, feeling full of love and joy and light for one long moment.

Then, you groan as you feel the piss drenching your thighs. “I guess that means a bath is out of the question.”

“Unless you wanna bathe in piss,” Ben says.

“Well, that just sounds tempting.”

He laughs, then picks you up effortlessly and sets you on your feet. “Go rinse off in the shower. I’ll clean up and run a bath for you.”

You coo happily. “You’re so sweet to me,” you say, pulling him close, kissing him once, twice, three times.

“Go. Now.”

“Mmm, yes, Daddy.”


End file.
